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Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Every year I set myself the goal of reading 100 books. I didn't quite make it this year, but I like (most of ) the books I read this year. This is not the order in which I read them, nor are they ranked in order here.

Tuesday, December 30, 2014

Earlier I posted another version of this photo - a hyper saturated color version. I like it in black and white too. I have already been reminded that I'm a few days early for epiphany, but I figure that if we can start Christmas in October, I can post these photos a week early.

My father has had the same set of chess pieces for at least 40 years. I remember being fascinated by them when I was younger. He must have taught me how to play - at least the bare outlines of how the various pieces move across the board - but other than that, I don't think I've ever seen him play.

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

I have, this Christmas season, spent a fair amount of time in front of our local grocery stores, playing my guitar and singing various Christmas songs instead of ringing a bell. (I hate the bell, but don't tell anyone I said that.)

We're just about finished with out kettle season for this year; tomorrow is the last day. I'll go out one more time (at least until next year).

I took my little audio recorder with me today and recorded a bit of it all. The microphone was on the floor and behind me - so the sound is a little weird, but in these recordings you can hear the clang and clatter of shopping carts, people coming in and going out of the store, talking, laughing as they pass by You can hear the occasional announcement from the grocery store's PA system. These sounds are unedited - all the bum notes and out of tune singing is just as it was.

This year's winner in the Ugly Nativity Set contest (held informally by me every year) is this beauty. And, not only is it really bad, but we have a dozen more of them, just like this, in our thrift store.

Sunday, December 21, 2014

The weight of it all is unbearable
of preemptive invasions
of grim Reaper drones and Hellfire missiles
of secret torture chambers
of all the clanking footgear
and uniforms rolled in blood;
the weight of it all is unbearable -
Even the son who has been given to us
could not, would not,
shoulder the weight of that government.

It came on as I was driving this afternoon and I had to pull off the road and park for its 13 minute duration so that I could fully appreciate the divine tragic absurd comedy of it all. Love will tear us apart. It's all right; I love you.

It was late in the evening when K. began to prepare the
evening meal. Outside, the city was deep
in snow, veiled in mist and darkness. The kitchen, by comparison, could be
described as well-lit though illuminated by a single lamp; it was a glimmer of
light against the emptiness of night.

Into two cups of water he added chopped onions, pepper, mushrooms, and crisp
leafy kale that he’d bought from the neighborhood market as he returned from the
Land Surveyor’s office. He poured in a
measure of beef broth and lemon juice and waited for it to boil.

Suddenly he was aware of a great muttering in the other room. The gentlemen gathered there had waited in
silence for several hours for him to return, but his long delay angered them. “He’s
wasted his time, and ours, by pursuing this Land Surveyor,” a stern voice
croaked. Mumbled assents followed from
others.

K. wondered if they knew that he’d overheard them. “Do they know that I am here? Should I explain all that I have achieved?”
he asked himself. K. added a pinch of
salt to the bubbling broth.

I saw this book last night and was sad that it wasn’t Franz Kafka, decided I had to write it up for
myself…Then after I was finished I discovered Kafka's Soup

I am Michael Kojo from Liberia, but presently living in
Gambia. I am writing to seek your help and cooperation to help me retrieve a
valuable consignment which contains much money and is sealed within a trunk box
locked within a deep security vault. A government emissary named Mr. Hamid
Hassan agreed to act as courier for forward delivery of this consignment into
your country but Mr. Hamid Hassan disappoints us again and again with his
greediness.

This
is because Mr. Hamid Hassan is an unwitting agent of the secret ruling elite –
who know very well that the inflammatory rhetoric being propagated within the
media will cause rain not to fall. They
are the ones responsible for the drought in California. He limps to the podium
to make an announcement – a prophecy of future disasters on American soil, but
is altogether unaware of what he is saying and doing.

20% of the consignment ($5.5 Million US Dollars, Twelve 57
lbs. gold bars, and four vials of gold dust, plus 1,500 three carat diamond
stones) was destroyed in a preemptive, first strike, atomic blast. But the members of the news media continually
fail to ask the appropriate questions. They refuse to look into the destruction
that provoked this attack.

This is why I need your help. Please, if you can assist/help
us retrieve the remainder of the consignment box from that duplicitous diplomat,
Mr. Hamid Hassan, we will be very happy to compensate you with 25% of the total
sum.

I will provide you the contact details for the delivery and a
disposable phone so that you can speak with directly with delivery services and
take immediate delivery of this valuable consignment box. Please, I also need
an experienced person like yourself to assist us set up and to develop a good
investment project that will yield extraordinary profit.

This we must do in order to complete our education.I am expecting your urgent response.Your maximum cooperation is highly
needed. The Smoke of Satan must not
obscure this transaction.IF you should fail to respond to this
letter I will see that you are cursed, and that you eat dust all the days of
your life.I will arrange for the
National Guard to crush your head, even as you strike at their heavy booted
heels.

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Then, being divinely warned
in a dream that they should not return to Herod, the magi departed for their
own country another way.

Then Herod, when he saw
that he was deceived by the wise men, was exceedingly angry; and he launched a
MQ-9 Reaper attack drone to launch AGM-114 Hellfire air-to-surface missiles
into and drop laser guided bombs on the little town of Bethlehem. In this way he put to death all the male
children who were in Bethlehem and in all its districts, from two years old and
under (along with an unrecorded number of other non-combatants and civilians).

Then was fulfilled what was
spoken by Jeremiah the prophet, saying:

“A voice was heard in Ramah,
Lamentation, weeping, and great mourning,
Rachel weeping for her children,
Refusing to be comforted,
Because they are no more.

Monday, December 15, 2014

It was mid-August when the heads of the families met
together to discuss “the Santa problem.” There was Don Geoffrey of the Toys Я
Us family, Don Walton of the Wal-Mart Syndicate, Don Schwarz of the FAO Schwarz
family (the oldest family in the North American territories), the consiglieri of the Amazon family, and the
aging Don of the once powerful KB family.

“Gentlemen” intoned Don Geoffrey, “you know why we are here. We have, year after year, increased our Christmas
toy sales in all territories - all except our esteemed KB friends…” He paused to allow those assembled to express
their commiseration and condolences with silent nods. “But we still have a problem.”

“Claus!” shouted Don Schwarz as he pounded the table with his fist.

“Indeed. Santa Claus, Kris Kringle, Pere
Noel, Saint Nicholas. The jolly old fat
man still manages to corner the market on toys every year, giving away his toys
for free to children all around the world.
How can we be expected to compete against this kind of unfair practice?”

“How indeed?” grunted Don KB

“In the past we have tried to be reasonable.
We have tried to work around him.
We have offered partnerships, we have offered bribes to his miserable little
elves. But still he manages to defeat us
every Christmas.”

“What can we do?” asked Don Schwarz, chomping on a fat cigar.

Don Geoffrey grinned; he had hoped someone would ask this
question. “The fat man must be
eliminated…”

It doesn't feel much like December. It's been in the 50s (F) for several days, and it rained - alternating heavy pounding rain, and light misty drizzle - all day today. This evening it's still somewhat balmy ( considering that it's December in Iowa) so I took my camera out for a stroll through the downtown square.

The official story, released to all media outlets through
Herod’s press corps is that the magi, having been warned in a dream not to go
back to Herod, returned to their country by another route. The truth is that the magi were captured by
Herod’s secret police and quickly and quietly taken to an undisclosed location in
the Judean wilderness.

And there they were subjected to refined interrogation techniques.

Melchior was forced to stand erect for several hours on his toes with his arms
shackled to the ceiling, and not allowed to sleep. Gaspar was given forcible rectal
hydration. And Balthazar was isolated
into a darkened chamber and forced to listen to the screams of his companions.

The interrogators asked the Magi over and again, “Where is the Christ? Where was he born?” The wise men held out as long as they could,
but no one can withstand torture indefinitely.
“In Bethlehem!” they screamed in order to make the torture stop.

I had a free moment this afternoon, with nothing else demanding my attention, so I took a drive with my pal, Kevin (who is also the editor and publisher of my book) out to Neil Smith National Wildlife Refuge. We were going to look for the bison, but when we got there we were told that the park was doing a controlled burn today. So we said, "Forget the bison; let's go look at the fire!" And we did.

Thursday, December 11, 2014

We found this in one of the Salvation Army red kettles tonight. I swear that I didn't do it, and that I didn't put anyone up to do it. Apparently I have fans. Mikey, however, said that I shouldn't be too impressed. "If they were real fans they'd have used a twenty."

It’s impossible. It can’t be done. I have practiced and
rehearsed it, slowly enunciated it with deliberate carefulness… but it is not
possible to sing the third verse of “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” without
sounding like Elmer Fudd when one comes to the line:

Down in yon forest there stands a hall
covered all o’er in purple and pall
I heard paradise bells
but, no, I cannot tell
what this carol is about at all.

*pall = a dark cloth hung over a coffin or a hearse

This carol dates to the Renaissance period, but traces its roots back to a
Middle English hymn or carol known as the CorpusChristi Carol – which some have suggested is connected to the Fisher King
of Arthurian legend – others believe it may have something to do with Anne
Boleyn, or that it’s an obscure allegory for the life of Christ.

I raided my son's collection of action figures to set up one of those kitschy pop culture / superhero nativity sets, but then I had a better idea. I returned (most of) my son's figures - all except the dragons, and borrowed my wife's Fontanini figurines to recreate an event the occurred during the holy family's flight to Egypt, according to the Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew, anyway.

From The Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew:

And, lo, suddenly there came forth
from the cave many dragons; and when the children saw them, they cried out in
great terror. Then Jesus went down from the bosom of His mother, and stood on
His feet before the dragons; and they adored Jesus, and thereafter retired.
Then was fulfilled that which was said by David the prophet, saying: Praise the Lord from the earth, ye
dragons; ye dragons, and all ye deeps. And the young child Jesus, walking
before them, commanded them to hurt no man. But Mary and Joseph were very much
afraid lest the child should be hurt by the dragons. And Jesus said to them: Do
not be afraid, and do not consider me to be a little child; for I am and always
have been perfect; and all the beasts of the forest must needs be tame before me.

Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Behold, the Angel of the Lord appeareth to Joseph in a dream
saying, “Arise, and take the young child and his mother, and flee into Egypt,
and be thou there until I bring thee word: for Herod will seek the young child
to destroy him.”

But Joseph replied, “There is no need for flight. I am well equipped to defend
my family, armed as I am with a Beretta 9mm handgun with M6 Tactical light with
laser and Trijicon night sites. With it
I can respond to any threat that might come against the child or his mother.”

The Angel of the Lord spoke a second time unto him saying, “King Herod is
exceeding wroth and will send his men of might to slay the child. Arise! Arise
now and flee into Egypt…”

But Joseph interrupted him saying, “I also have a Mossberg 500 pump-action shotgun
with Winchester PDX-1 shotgun shells. I have no need for alarm; I am not
afraid.”

Then the Angel of the Lord left him, for there is no reasoning with some
people.

(Fictitiousville, Oklahoma) “It’s terrible that something
like this should happen, especially during the holidays,” Chuck Neale of Fictitiousville
said, “but a man’s got the right to defend his home.”

Police are investigating a home invasion that led to the fatal shooting of a
yet unidentified man. The incident occurred
around 2:30 a.m. this morning. Neale says
that he was awakened in the early morning by noise in the house. He retrieved his gun from under his pillow
and went to investigate.

“That’s when I saw him, an old fat man rooting around in our living room,
messing with the Christmas tree. So I
shot him,” said Neale.

Preliminary reports indicate that the victim was shot at least eight
times.

“I ain’t saying I’m glad he’s dead, but I’d do it again if I had to,” said
Neale. “Ain’t nobody going to be ruining Christmas for my kids.”

The identity of the victim isn’t yet known. He appears to
have been 60 -80 years old, with a full beard.
He was wearing a bright red outfit.
If anyone has any information about this unidentified man they are
encouraged to contact the Fictitiousville police department.

"Praise to Jesus, our salvation, in a manger laid!Brother Andrew, do you hasten to the holy Babe?Yea, to Bethlehem I go, since the angel song I know;Through the strange and mystic weather, let us go together."

Sunday, December 7, 2014

The message light blinked in Dr. Jeanette Isabella’s
transparent corneal data sheath, a message from her friend and colleague, Professor
Émile Blémont. She hadn’t seen Professor
Blémont around the campus for the past several days – but this was nothing
unusual. As a diachronic anthropologist
he was frequently away from his lab and his lecture hall, making observations
in the field. With a coordinated motion
of her eye Dr. Isabella triggered playback of the message; the image of
Professor Blémont appeared as a slightly transparent overlay in her data
sheath, the audio played through direct stimulation of her tympanic membranes
by microcircuits embedded in her tympanic cavity.

“Dr. Isabella, I am in need of your assistance. My blind has suffered a serious malfunction
and I will be unable to sustain power to the stealth circuits for very much longer. I have had to shut down nearly every other
system in order to reroute power to the stealth generators, but I only have
enough energy to sustain this invisibility for another three standardized
objective hours. I need you to bring the
fusion generator from the other blind in my lab so that I can replace the
damaged one here. Pleas hurry, Dr.
Isabella. If the stealth circuits fail,
the blind will become visible and my research will be ruined – not to mention
the trouble I’ll get from the time slip regulators. I don’t even want to imagine the paperwork I’ll
have to do for a disturbance in the time slip.
Come quickly, and bring a couple of flashlights. As I said, I had to shut down everything –
even the lights.

After half an hour of twisting and pulling on the spare
fusion generator (but no banging on its ceramic shell – she wasn’t sure she
trusted the thing not to explode and to destroy three quarters of the state…)
she pulled up the technical manual to her data sheath. It was a simple procedure then – so simple
she felt rather embarrassed to have missed the release switch. Another 45 minutes and the temporal conductor
was powered up and ready to relocate her both spatially and temporally using
the coordinates left in the machine by Professor Blémont. Isabella had accompanied Blémont a few times
but had never traveled alone. She
initiated the procedure with some trepidation.

There was a bright burst of light and a quick sensation of
pain – as if every inch of her skin had been simultaneously pinched. Then everything was black. She shrieked.

“Dr. Isabella. Please hush.” From the darkness came Professor Blémont’s calm
voice. “I’m wonderfully glad that you’ve
come, but please hush. Any noise may alert the subjects to our presence.”

“Yes,” she answered, “and a couple of flashlights, just as you asked.”

“That’s perfect. Perfect.” Blémont took
one of the flashlights and the fusion generator and went to work
immediately.

“Where are we?” Dr. Isabella asked. “I
mean, when and when are we?”

“I’d rather not say at this juncture,” said Blémont as he removed a cover panel
from the back wall of the blind. “Suffice
it to say, I think that I’ve located a most extraordinary event.”

He soon had the faulty fusion generator removed and the
replacement installed. The blind’s
various systems came back online, including the lights. A viewscreen came to life. Isabella and Blémont could see a small
village under a quickly darkening sky. An
alarm tone rang.

“I was afraid of this,” said Professor Blémont.
“The malfunction in the fusion generator has upset some of the blind’s
other systems. We won’t be able stay
here. I ‘ll have to take the blind back to my lab for repairs and return later.”

“So your trip’s been wasted?”

“Well that’s the marvel of diachronic anthropology. If I haven’t disturbed the time slip, I can
return again and observe the event without worry.” Blémont began the procedure
that would return them and the blind to his laboratory.

“But what is it you’re here to see?”
asked Isabella. Professor Blémont
just shook his head.

The temporal engines cycled up to full power, their whine
was audible inside the blind, but completely masked by the stealth circuits
outside. In the viewscreen Isabella
could see a young woman carrying a small child. Professor Blémont gasped and
whispered, “It’s her.”

“Who is she?” asked Isabella. “She’s beautiful. And so is the child.”

Just then the temporal engines swept them and the blind back to Professor Blémont’s
campus lab.

Though Amazon.com says that the book is "temporarily out of stock," I have it on good authority that a shipment of my book is already on its way to the online retailer. Muted Hosannas is currently listed at $11.75 - not a bad price. Now would be a good time to buy one.

I make a lot of noise complaining about Christmas and about Christmas music –
but the fact of it is, somewhere deep inside my grinchiness there is some trace
particle of myself that wants to appreciate the holiday. So when I saw the Beach Boys’ Christmas Album
on sale at a nearby pawn shop, I bought it.
(hey, for $1.25 what’s it going to hurt?)

The original recording was released in November of 1964. What I bought was one of the many re-issues of the album, this one on CD in 1991.

The first five songs are Beach Boys’ originals, written by
group leader, Brian Wilson. And they sound like you’d expect a Beach Boy’s
Christmas album to sound like. The
first song, “Little Saint Nick” borrows its melody and rhythms from their earlier
hit “Little Deuce Coup.” It tells the story of Santa tooling around in a suped-up
cherry red toboggan instead of a hot rod.

“Merry Christmas, Baby” is a light-hearted Christmas break up song, a bit of
bubble gum pop music. “Christmas Day” is
a little do-wop number celebrating the nostalgia of Christmas – with a great
organ solo in the middle.

Tracks 6 – 12 are schmaltzy arrangements of traditional Christmas songs like “Frosty
the Snowman” and "We Three Kings of Orient Are” with the Beach Boys trademarked
harmonies dropped in over top the strings and horns. And the two don’t
mix well; they just don’t fit together.

For $1.25 I’m quite content to listen to just the first five tracks, and to
ignore the mawkish tracks that fill out the rest of the album.

My friend, Dr. Tarrec, was, for a few years, a member of a mysterious, secret
society known as The Brotherhood of Games.
I have often asked him about it, but he rarely speaks of them or their
activities. Recently I found this official communiqué from the Brotherhood
addressed to Dr. Tarrec. When I asked him
about it he abruptly ended our conversation and asked me to leave.

***

Be read and keep ready; We need every available agent on this – you and all the
assembled company. The FBI, and the warehouse
guards are already in place. Hold yourself
in reserve. Do not enter until I give
the word. After many days you shall be
mustered, ordered to carry shipments of weapons across the border. In the latter years you shall go again from
the war into subway tunnels beneath the city: Denver, Toledo, Chicago, wherever
people are gathered.

You shall advance into the cold and dark, coming like a winter storm with
shadow and with snow in the wind. You
shall be like a cloud covering the land in nuclear winter. Turn off the flashlight. Hide in the darkness. The door has been opened.

Mortal, set your face toward winter contingency plans. We’re talking about the end and it is very
cold, Gogmagog! is the land of the frozen.
The chief priests of Meshech and Tubal are standing without coats
against the wind. Prophecy against
Gogmagog! and say “The Decalogue is delivered.
The snow falls unevenly across the nation. I will turn you around. The bombs are in Chicago. Prepare for immediate deployment into the
winds.

“I will put hooks into your jaw and inject you with narcotics to induce a narco-hypnotic
state. I will lead you out with your
army and they will be no more. I will be
back for you and your horses and your horsemen.
All of them, even those clothed in full armor against the winter
chill. There are assassins at the gate
and wolves beyond the door. A great
company, all of them with shield and bucklers, wielding swords and hand-held
nuclear devices.”

Persia, Ethiopia, and Put are with them, but we cannot understand why. Weep for yourself and for your children. There are saboteurs on the airfield. Gomer and all her troops are using false IDs
and stolen passports, as is Beth-Togarmah from Ultima-Thule where the wind is
cold.

I know I can be a bit of a sourpuss during the long extended Christmas season. I don't especially like Christmas. I don't like a lot of the Christmas music that's on the radios. But there are some Christmas songs that I do like, quite a few of them actually.

I have gathered some of them here for you - songs from the folk, blues, spiritual, jazz, country, soul, rock, and rap traditions. Some of them are traditional. Some of them are satirical. Some are serious, some goofy. But if I must listen to Christmas music, this is some of what I would choose.

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

If you're in the Newton or Des Moines, Iowa area you should come to either one (or both) of the book's release parties. I'll be reading from the book, autographing books, playing my guitar and otherwise making a fool of myself at:

This is an essay I wrote for an assignment in my ENG COMP class. I exceeded the maximum word count by just a smidge...

***

It is a curious
irony that during election seasons - like the one that recently concluded – it
is difficult to have a nuanced political discussion. Bombarded and overwhelmed by attack ads and
sound bites as we are, our discussions tend to veer toward the hyperbolic. Perhaps, now that the vigorous electioneering
is over, at least for a time, we can examine, without bombast and without
rancor, one of the claims that is often made during election seasons. Political and theological conservatives frequently
say that the Bible does not prescribe any role for government in caring for the
poor - that this should be handled by private charities and individual
donations. While it is true that the Bible does encourage each individual to be
generous to the poor, it is not true to say that it prescribes no role for the
government in caring for the poor; the Bible does allow (even mandates) a
governmental role in providing for the poor.

In a recent
campaign speech in Des Moines, Iowa, Republican Senator-Elect Joni Ernst said,
“We have lost a reliance on not only our own families, but so much of what our
churches and private organizations used to do…They used to have wonderful food
pantries. They used to provide clothing for those that really needed it, but we
have gotten away from that. Now we’re at a point where the government will just
give away anything. We have to stop that” (Ernst 21: 46). Ernst ran on a conservative platform of
small government and biblical values, one of which, she believes, is that it is
not within the government’s purview to care for the poor.

Conservative
Christian and political commentator David Noebel says “[b]ecause government is
an institution of justice, not of grace or community or creativity, it should
not … attempt to dispense grace through tax-funded handouts … or control the
economy and the disposition of property” (Noebel 628). He believes that there
simply is no biblical allowance for a governmental role in providing for the
poor, but this argument is easily refuted.
There are many biblical examples that describe the role of the
government in taking care of the poor.

The prophet
Jeremiah was a frequent critic of the king and leaders of Judah at the end of
the seventh and early years of the sixth century BCE; he condemned the idolatry
and greed that was rampant among the leaders of the nation. In a speech directed to King Jehoiakim the
prophet spoke for God, saying:

Do you think you are
more a king
because you
compete in cedar? Your father ate
and drank and dispensed
justice and equity -
Then all went well
with him. He upheld the
rights of the poor and needy -
Then all was well. That is truly heeding
me (JPS Hebrew – English Tanakh, Jeremiah 22: 15 - 16).This king was
chided for failing to care for the poor.
The prophet held up the memory of his father, King Josiah, as an
example. Josiah upheld the rights of the
poor; he ensured that they had food to eat and protected them from those who
would exploit their labor or steal their land, and he was blessed for it. This was the role of the good king,
Josiah. This was the role of his
government.

The book of
Proverbs is the biblical collection of ancient wisdom and deep thoughts. These sayings were collected from an eclectic
variety of sources, including the otherwise unmentioned Lemuel, King of
Massa. This king passed down to his son
the words of advice that his mother had given him, “Speak up for the dumb, / For
the rights of all the unfortunate. / Speak up, judge righteously, / Champion the poor and the needy” (JPS
Hebrew – English Tanakh, Proverbs 31: 8– 9).

It may be argued
that to “champion the poor and needy” or to uphold the rights of the poor and
the needy is not the same as providing tax funded government charity, but there
is more of a correlation than many conservatives are willing to admit. One of the biblically defined rights of the
poor and needy was the right of “gleaning,” that is, the poor were allowed to
harvest grain from the edges of other people’s fields and fruit from other
people’s orchards and vines (Leviticus 23:22, Deuteronomy 24: 19 – 21). While it is not a perfectly analogous
relation to tax funded government programs, the concept is very similar. And the biblically defined role of the king
including protecting these rights of the poor.

The ideal king of
Israel is described in Psalm 72, and it is clear that this perfect king will
care for the poor. He will “champion the
lowly among the people/ deliver the needy folk,” and he will save “the needy
who cry out/ the lowly who have no helper. / He cares about the poor and the needy
/ he brings the needy deliverance” (JPS Hebrew – English Tanakh, Psalm
72: 4, 12 - 14). This king will rule with
justice, which is to say, he will care for and provide relief to the poor and
the weak. This, the psalmist says, will
bring blessing not only to the nation of Israel, but to the entire world. The primary role attributed the ideal king in
this psalm is that of helping the poor; the psalm is clear and unambiguous in
declaring that the role of the king is to care and provide for the poor.

We can debate how
these instructions from an ancient theocratic monarchy are to be applied in our
contemporary secular democratic republic, and we can argue about the best way
to put them into practice because, “[a]lthough biblical revelation tells us
that God and his faithful people are always at work liberating the oppressed,
we do not find a comprehensive blueprint for a new economic order in Scripture”
(Sider 193). It is up to us to determine
what that will look like in this modern age.
But we cannot make the bald assertion that the Bible does not allow for
a governmental role in providing for the poor.
It very clearly does.

This is another scrap of writing that I’ve found in the box
of papers that my friend, Dr. Tarrec, has given me. It is scrawled in his nearly microscopic
handwriting on the back of a yellowing old telegram which reads: All is not well here. Rumors persist. The End
is not yet. HJ Meredith.

***

And now a great sign appearing on flat-screens and tablets
around the world: a woman clothed in a
photon absorbent gown standing in the shadows of a crater filled with lunar
dust - the rubble and ruin of riotous times - on her brow a ringlet of stars. And
the woman is given two reptilian wings so that she might hover over university
towns like a miasmatic specter. She is
the mother of lizards, her sons the shadows behind the federal government. Her serpent seed has infected the human
genome. She is pregnant and in labor.

Now a second sign appears in the sky: a
huge red dragon. Do not follow him. He is a fiend. This has all been planned. Like a wasp winging its way over many waters,
he has no rest during the day; he dares not sleep at night. The dragon has seven heads and ten crowning
coronets.

We are being followed, tailed by anthrax and nervous energy. But this is more than raw, untrained power, more
than a single explosion. It is a vast
quantity of biological and chemystical weapons. It is book burnings and false
flags. The relevant information used to
be on page 39, but the Greek texts have been changed – maliciously altered – in the days and weeks since the bombings.

The dragon of dissension has a quota of prisoners to execute before the end,
and the end is coming soon. He knows
that his time is short. He spreads a story to extinguish a third of the stars.

And now war breaks out in the space between the stars. The angels in pursuit of perfection fight the
angels of angst and unlimited power. And
the dragon too, with his angels, fights against the luminaries and they are driven away. The gates of heaven are
left open and unprotected as airplane contrails disseminate alien seed upon the
surface of the earth.

The serpent vomits water from his mouth, along with a torrent of bullets, but
it is not enough. Microstatic attacks continue
and who can fight against them? I do not
recognize the blasphemous portrait of the man in the propaganda posters.

Monday, December 1, 2014

My good friend AJ shared this piece of writing today. She has kindly given me permission to share it here:

***

Yesterday we lit the candle of hope in our advent wreath.
I also like to call it the candle of longing, because so often hope begins with
longing. The longing for God to be more than some far off impersonal
entity, the longing for God to walk once again with humanity in the cool of the
day on this great garden of earth, became the hope of Emmanuel and was realized
in a savior who cried tears of blood for us in the Garden of Gethsemane.
Our advent hymnal is peppered with these songs of deep longing and hope.
Our mournful cries of “O Come Emmanuel” and “Come Thou Long Expected Jesus”
mingle with the triumphant strains of “Joy to the World”

I must admit that I like the mournful and longing Christmas
songs the best, because so often they reflect my own walk of faith. My
prayers are often these plaintive cries of “God, please take care of this!
Come to Ferguson and bring reconciliation and justice and peace.
Come to Syria and Iraq and Bethlehem. Heal the fractures of generations
of hatred and war. Come to Sierra Leon and Liberia. Release them
from the devastating disease of Ebola. Come and salve grief, unravel the
mysteries of mental illness, and fill us with your grace and compassion. Come
thou long expected Jesus. Let us find our rest in thee.”

Please understand that I am not asking for God to come in some
apocalyptic blaze of glory, but rather for the God who is already there to
reveal himself within and through these situations. Perhaps this
Christmas, the little town of Bethlehem about which we sing will finally wake
from its deep and dreamless sleep to recognize the God who is already there.

I find these same longings within the Advent texts. Isaiah
cries out, “Comfort, comfort my people… Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and
proclaim to her that her hard service has been completed that her sin has
been paid for.” (Isaiah 40:1-2b NIV) For the first 39 chapters of his
prophecy, Isaiah has offered little more than pain and heartache, but here at
last he offers hope and more than just some sort of dim feeling. Isaiah’s
hope is pregnant with anticipation. He urges us to do more than bow our
heads and assure ourselves that God might one day show up.

“In the desert prepare the way for the LORD; make straight in
the wilderness a highway for our God.” Isaiah 40:3 (NIV).

Our hope is an
active hope. Its hope predicated in faith, a full hope, a complete
hope. In the New Testament, Peter commands us to have this sort of hope
which he also calls a “living hope.” (1Peter 1:3, 11) There’s a
difference between wishful thinking that stands at a distance and wonders if
the world will change or if God really cares and an active, invested hope with
calloused knees and rolled up sleeves. God’s people are charged with the
later.

We must invest in our time of longing by doing our best to reveal
the presence of God who is already there and yet hidden by the twists of
sin. “And the glory of the LORD will be revealed, and all mankind
together will see it. For the mouth of the LORD has spoken.” Isaiah 40:5 (NIV)

Yesterday, I lit the candle of hope and promised that this year
I would lay aside despair as I sought once again to find God in those unlikely
places where he is ought to show up: away in a manger, a tiny baby at the
breast of a virgin, on the other side of the world, across town, or next
door.

I've written a new song for the Advent season. The melody is a traditional tune - "Which Side Are You On?" (a worker's protest song by Florence Reece - which in turn, seems to be based on a traditional hymn, "Lay the Lily Low".)

The lyrics are based upon some of the lectionary readings for the Advent season this year: Isaiah 64: 1 - 9, Isaiah 40: 1 - 11, Isaiah 61: 1 - 11, Luke 1: 32 - 33

Oh, that you’d rend the heavens
and make the mountains quake;
give proof to all the nations
that your wrath is slaked

Soon the Lord will come.

Soon the Lord will come.

Speak comfort to my people;
the penalty is paid,
a voice cries in the wild’ness,
“a path for God is made.”

The Spirit is upon me
to bring good news to you,
to bind up broken-hearted;
your captiv’ty is through.

He will be great and mighty,
the Son of the Most High;
he’ll sit on David’s throne and
his Kingdom never dies.

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The artwork and music published on this blog are copyright 2010 - 2018 by Thatjeffcarter was here. All rights reserved. But I could be persuaded to let you use them. Contact me for permissions. "The views, comments, statements and opinions expressed on this Web site do not necessarily represent the official position of The Salvation Army." I am no longer with the Salvation Army, anyway.